


Parallel Lines

by SlytherinKilljoy



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Home Alone (Movies) Fusion, Burglary, Child Neglect, Gen, Gun Violence, Ikeda is mentioned - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28306437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinKilljoy/pseuds/SlytherinKilljoy
Summary: The man screams, struggling to breath with the hot sauce entering his lungs, burning through his nasal lining.Karma leans down, meeting the eyes of the thieves as he calls the police.“You really shouldn’t mess with me. Karma’s always going to get you in the end.” He says, smiling innocently.TLDR: During Christmas, an 8 year old Karma Akabane is left home alone when two robbers try to break into his house. This leads to an interesting Christmas, maybe the best one he’s ever had.
Relationships: (pre-slash), Akabane Karma & Asano Gakushuu, Akabane Karma/Asano Gakushuu
Comments: 4
Kudos: 157





	Parallel Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [With Tragic Eyes and Bloodshot Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25850128) by [SlytherinKilljoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinKilljoy/pseuds/SlytherinKilljoy). 



> I wrote this to celebrate both Christmas and Karma’s birthday. Look out for January 1st, when I’ll be posting a fanfic for Gakushuu!
> 
> I tried to make it inspired by Christmas movies, so I decided home alone would be the most interesting. It is relatively angsty so heed the tags. Also, is it just me, but when I was a kid learning about parallel lines it made me so sad. That two lines could reach out forever but could never meet. It seemed so tragic. So here’s a fanfic about it cuz you all know I love tragic.
> 
> So, ladies, gentlemen, and others, have a merry Christmas and enjoy the fanfic!

When Karma is almost 8, he already knows he’s a handful. His parents tell him so, and his teachers yell it at him every time he misbehaves.

He’s a bad child. He knows that.

He’s a boy with too much bloodlust in his eyes, a viciousness carefully bred from years of neglect and lack of love.

But he’s only a child . Even his precocious mind doesn’t know what to do when his parents leave him home alone for 2 weeks.

His parents had planned a nice long vacation for the two of them, and since Karma is such a handful, they aren’t going to bring him with them. And really, babysitters always end up quitting every time they face Karma, so his parents have no choice but to leave him home alone.

So they leave two weeks before Christmas, handing him a credit card and telling him there’s probably enough food in the cupboard to last.

(Newsflash, they lied, that food only lasts him 5 days. Most of the things are impossible for him to cook, the raw meat starts to rot and he has no clue how to cook rice. He’s not tall enough to reach the rice cooker on the counter)

But after the initial phase of crying and punching his wall with a painful feeling burning in his chest, a strange thought enters Karma’s mind.

He’s alone now.

He can do whatever he wants.

So Karma heads over to the stores, buys several containers of glittery pink paint.

The clerk gives him a bemused glance, but sells him the paint anyways.

Karma doesn’t know much about painting walls, but how hard could it be?

He turns on the heavy metal music, listening to the vulgar words he doesn’t quite understand yet but will soon enough.

Then he attacks his bedroom wall—a generic light blue that is proper for all boys his age to have—and splatters it with the pink glitter paint.

It looks like a horrific mess, but as Karma steps back to look at his art, he grins.

It’s perfect.

He happily takes the empty paint cartons outside, heading out to the dumpster to dispose of them.

That’s when he pauses, narrowing his eyes at the car parked a couple feet away from his house.

He’s heard about the burglaries going on in rich houses around this neighborhood. He’d never had to worry about it before though.

A chill goes down his spine and he carefully turns around, heading back into the house.

The car doesn’t move.

Karma bites his lip, pacing back and forth down his pink-glitter splattered room.

He might just be paranoid, but if he’s really in danger of being robbed, he’s a perfect target.

And while Karma can win fistfights on the playground, there’s nothing he can do against guns unless he has a weapon of his own.

So the next few days are spent desperately searching for a weapon, too afraid to leave the house without them. He checks every window, makes sure the locks are on, and digs through piles of kitchen knives and razors.

He’s a bit too scared to really use real knives. They’re too large for his child sized hands and his grip is a bit clumsy.

Maybe the burglars won’t target him, and he’ll be fine? Maybe he won’t need a weapon after all—

Crash—

The window is smashed open, glass clattering to the ground with a loud noise.

Two men in black clothing and masks over their faces approach Karma.

“Crap, why is that kid still here? You get him, I’ll be in the other rooms searching for money.”

The other man leaves, and the first one stays, pulling something out of his pocket.

It’s a gun.

A real gun.

And it’s pointed right at Karma.

Karma panics, his lungs seizing, and he grabs the first thing he can get his hands on.

Wasabi.

He holds it out in front of him like a weapon.

The man is silent for a moment, then breaks down in laughter.

“Are you kidding me? Wasabi? Fucking hot sauce? What is hot sauce going to do against a gun, you dumb brat.”

The man is still chuckling, but in midst of his laughter, he’s lowered his guard, letting the gun drop to point towards the ground.

Now is his chance.

Karma leaps, reaching up and shoving the wasabi up the man’s nostrils, not relenting even when the man screams in agony.

He wrestles the gun out of the man’s hands, and struggles to get a proper grip on it.

A real gun. In his hands. He feels in incredible rush of power, and lets himself bask in that feeling for a moment.

But then he snaps out of it, reminding himself not to be stupid.

Because there’s still another man out there, who’s probably heard his companion scream.

“Hey? You good? What happened there?” Karma hears footsteps coming from the other room, and carefully raises the gun, pointing it at the place the second thief is coming from.

“What the hell? Brat? What’s going on. Why do you have his gun?” The man panics, raising his own gun.

But before he can fire, Karma aims, going for the man’s leg.

It misses, but hits the floor beside him, scaring him enough for Karma to take advantage of the moment of distraction, shoving the wasabi up his nose as well.

He decides that he rather likes guns, and keeps one of them for himself before the police gets there. Then he lies and tells the police that the thieves only had one gun.

When the news gets out, it becomes a huge commotion. The entire neighborhood peeks their heads out to gawk at the police and the thieves. It’s rather funny, because this neighborhood is the kind that minds it’s own business.

Because even when they certainly had to have heard the gunshots, no one did a thing. It was Karma who had to call the police. Even though everyone can hear the screams and breaking glass in the house across the street from them, nobody says a thing.

None of the neighbors ever care about what’s going on inside each other’s houses unless there’s a chance for them to share the glory.

So when the news comes out that Karma Akabane called the cops on the infamous robber in their neighborhood, he becomes a bit popular. Everyone comes to talk to him and ask him too play with them.

Most of the kids are pushy, going on and on about how cool he was, oh Akabane, tell us how you took down the thief, can you show us—-

But there is one boy, a quiet boy with purple eyes and a tired face who approaches him. There’s a bandage on his forehead, barely visible through the strawberry blonde bangs.

“I heard the gunshots.” The boy says, looking right in Karma’s eyes. None of the other kids looked him in the eyes, “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Karma doesn’t really know what to do with that. After all the events that happened, all the attention he got, no one ever looked right at him and genuinely told him that they were glad he was alright.

Why did this random neighbor care when no one else did?

“It’s good that you caught the thieves,” the boy goes on, his eyes somber, “They robbed our house too. Last Sunday. They took my father’s basketball because they thought it was a collectible or something because it was locked up in a trophy case—-and my father got really mad.”

“Your father got mad last Sunday.” Karma repeats, the pieces clicking to place in his head. Last Sunday was when he heard the breaking glass and a child screaming. He looks at the bandages on the boy’s forehead with new understanding, “You’re the boy who lives across the street from us.”

“Yeah, I’m Asano. Gakushu Asano.” The boy holds out a bony hand, and his cool fingers feel soothing against Karma’s too warm skin. They shake hands firmly, albeit a bit clumsily, as Karma introduces himself as well.

“I’m confused though. Why did your father take it out on you if it was the thieves’ fault?” Karma asks, a familiar yet strange sensation of anger rippling through his chest.

“I’ll tell you a secret.” Asano lowers his voice, leaning closer, “I was home alone too when the thieves came. Except I wasn’t brave like you. I panicked. I hid in the closet and cried, and I couldn’t breath—“ Asano takes a deep breath, lingering fear still visible on his face. After a moment, he composes himself and keeps going, “My father was angry that I was so weak—You know what, you probably don’t want to hear this. That’s not what I came here to say anyway. I think you were really cool for being brave, so I just wanted to tell you.”

Asano starts to turn away, something on his face looking so raw and emotional that Karma couldn’t help but reach out and grab his hand.

He doesn’t have time to think of what to say, there’s really no way for him to articulate all the feelings and worries running through him right now so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I think you’re cool too. I was afraid as well, you know? Next time, just have some wasabi on hand. You won’t be afraid if you have wasabi.” Karma says, before turning as red as his hair.

He drops Asano’s hand and runs back inside, ignoring Asano calling his name.

What in the world did he just say?

You won’t be afraid if you have wasabi?

“Aaarghh.” Karma groans, banging his head against the wall, “He must think I’m an idiot. Great going there, Karma. He actually thought you were cool for a second then you ruined it. You ruin everything. This is why you’re a handful.”

Karma sinks to the floor, finally giving in and crying after all the stress he’s been through in the last few days.

He’s utterly lonely.

All over again.

He mopes around for the next few days, trying to distract himself from the fact that he’s going to spend Christmas (and birthday) alone this year.

With no presents.

So he decides to gift himself by staying up all night playing video games on Christmas Eve.

He doesn’t even know what time it is, and by the time the sun has risen, Karma still hasn’t fallen asleep.

He’s officially 8 years old.

There’s a knock on his door, and Karma jumps, suddenly alert.

His parents aren’t coming home for another three days. Why is someone knocking? Is it another neighbor who’s trying to suck up to him?

Karma just throws on a Hello Kitty hoodie that’s actually his mother’s but she’s not here, so it’s his now. He knows his hair is a mess, so he just pulls up the hoodie and hopes it’s not anyone important.

He pulls the door open, a bottle of wasabi in his hands just in case it’s someone suspicious and—-oh.

It’s Asano, with a fresh bandage on his forehead and dressed in a proper looking lavender sweater.

Karma looks like a fool compared to him, sleep deprived with his oversized hello kitty hoodie and wasabi in his hand.

“Hi Akabane. Merry Christmas.” Asano greets, “Well, I noticed that you’re home alone, and so I wanted to give you a present. And you seem to really like wasabi, but I couldn’t find any at home, so I got you something else instead.” Asano holds out his neatly wrapped present, all perfectly taped up.

Karma stares blankly, “You don’t think I’m a complete idiot?”

“Well, everyone is an idiot compared to me. Not many can match my intellect. So I’m used to it,” Asano says, offhandedly.

Karma pinches the bridge of his nose.

Great.

So he does think he’s an idiot.

“Well, thanks for the present.” Karma takes it carefully, not wanting to ruin all the delicate wrapping paper as he unfolds it, “You got me hot sauce? For Christmas? Thank you so much!” Karma beams, throwing an arm around Asano.

Asano flinches, pulling away.

“Sorry—“ Asano mutters, “I don’t like being touched.”

“No. It’s alright.” Karma’s smile fades a bit. “But really, thank you. I don’t have anything for you except—hold on.”

Karma heads to his living room, and grabs the gun he hid from the police. He really thinks the gun is cool and he wants to keep it, but he knows that Asano needs it more than he does.

“Merry Christmas. This is for you.” Karma presses the gun into his hands.

Asano stares at it with confusion plain as day on his face.

“A gun? Is this a toy?”

“It’s real.”

Asano touches it with care, as if it’ll break if he handles it wrong.

“No way.” Asano breathes.

“Yes way,” Karma retorts, “But there’s only a few bullets so only use it when you really need to.” Karma speaks the last part quietly, and something glistens in Asano’s eyes.

(Neither of them bother clarifying if Karma means against a thief or against Asano’s father.)

Then Asano reaches out, hugging Karma.

It’s quick, and Asano’s silky hair brushes Karma, and he catches a whiff of vanilla and mint before Asano pulls away looking a bit nervous.

And yet there’s a half smile on his face.

Before he turns to leave, Asano tells him, “This was probably the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

(Karma isn’t quite sure if he’s supposed to be happy or sad about that.)

Karma watches Asano’s small figure as he turns away, stepping past the street that separates him. It’s just one street that separates their houses, but it feels like so much more.

They’re both parallel lines, forever stretching on but never being able to meet, never truly bridging the gap between them.

Karma stares down at the hot sauce, and the sparkly purple ribbon wrapped around it.

And comes to the dawning realization that this has been the best Christmas he has ever had as well.

He would usually think of that and end up depressed and angry, but something about today has him feeling different.

Call it the Christmas spirit, or the lingering warmth of Asano’s hug and his fragrance of vanilla and mint—but Karma’s feeling optimistic today, despite all the confusing feelings and clashing emotions.

Because even two parallel lines can get close, even if they can’t ever touch.

So he decides that next year’s Christmas, he’ll get Asano a properly wrapped present. And next year’s Christmas will be even better than this year

(That is, if his parents don’t kill him first when they see the mess he’s made of his bedroom wall.)


End file.
